Figure 8
by stargazing.from.earth
Summary: "Place a kiss on my cheekbone. When you vanish me, I'm buried in the snow." ...Loki is banished to Earth much like his brother once was, to earn an appreciation for humankind. Of course, he maintains it will be futile but there's someone who might change his mindset...With war brewing in Asgard and all the Nine Realms, some appreciation for a certain human might be needed.
1. Introduction

**Introduction**

He was falling. That was all the man could think as his body flew helplessly through time and space. Much like a mortal, his body was easily manipulated by the rush of air, twisting and turning. And though he was a god, he did have a limit to how much damage his flesh could endure and he thought the result of this excursion might reach that limit.

Odin had cast him out. Like everything the Allfather did, there was surely a well thought out purpose behind this exile, which he had informed his younger son of before his plummet. As the atmosphere curved around his being, the man thought of his father-or rather, just Odin, he amended- with an ever-increasing degree of bitterness. What a foolish plan it was.

The man, the legend—the God of Mischief and Lies himself!—was meant to spend his time among mortals. In order to convey redemption to his son, Odin had banished Loki to Midgard where he was to acquire an "appreciation" for humankind.

An absurd notion, the man thought as he fell. And though his mind ultimately wandered back to the imminent pain of landing, he had enough capacity in his brain left to know Odin's efforts would prove futile, and also to know that his father would never give up quest to reform Loki in this way. Teach the god who had tried to enslave mankind to love them instead? Preposterous.

Loki considered his options until suddenly, unforgivably, his body was wrenched upon the hard earth and a painful shock flew through his apparently frail muscles.

He had arrived, he thought dryly.

And promptly closed his eyes and dozed off in a matter of seconds, in search of relief from the ungodly mortal pain spreading through his limbs.

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading! I promise it gets much better after this intro, as I introduce the OC :) Click the next chapter to see the REAL beginning of the story!**


	2. The Outside

**Chapter One: The Outside**

_"So how can I ever try to be better/ Nobody ever lets me in./ I can still see you, This aint the best view/ On the outside looking in./ I've been a lot of lonely places/ I've never been on the outside." -Taylor Swift, "The Outside"_

"Gwen! Table four is ready!" The cook yelled over the sounds of sizzling grease. I snatched up the grubby tray and rolled by the kitchen counter in my skates, pulling the waiting plates onto the platter. The smell of hamburgers and oily pizza wafted up from my wares and I wrinkled my nose in disgust. Screwing my face into some semblance of a smile, I called off the orders and handed the food off to the waiting customers.

As I skated back to the waitress station, my coworker, who I had been waiting an hour for, waved her arms frantically at me. "Hey, sorry I'm late!" she called out loudly over the clattering of the kitchen. "My little brother had this-"

"It's fine," I said, giving her a small, forced smile. "I've just really got to get going." I glanced at my watch and made a face. I had thirty minutes until I needed to be at the restaurant. With a ten minute travel time to and from my apartment, I had...

God. Nine minutes if I left right then.

I bid my goodbyes and clocked my hours, scurrying out of the grimy establishment like a rat out of a sewer. Victim of circumstance, really. At least I got paid for my time in the dungeons.

When I finally reached my apartment—after a cab ride and then a four block run—I was stopped while stepping into the elevator. Gritting my teeth, I turned around to the person whose hand was gripping my shoulder.

"Miss Summers, have you conveniently forgotten your rent check again?" The old hag—and my landlord, unfortunately—said by way of greeting. She wrung her hands and twisted her face into what seemed to be a sadistic smile, the picture of a villain—maybe a wicked witch by the looks of it.

"I'm quite sorry, honestly. I'll get it to you first thing in the morning. But at present time...I really must go." I forced an apologetic smile and hit the close button in the elevator, the door serving as a useful shield from her useless glares.

Checking my watch, I realized I now had six minutes. I started flinging my clothes off as soon as I walked through the door and then panicked when I reached my bedroom. Through the massive piles of clothes on the floor—my bedroom resembling a minor mountain range—there was no way I'd find anything suitable.

And then I saw it—like destiny...

Sharp and glittery, it was meant to be. I plucked the heavily sequined dress out of my bookshelf (the regular place to find your evening wear, you know) and pulled it over my head. I grabbed a pair of heels—after searching approximately forty-three seconds for the left shoe—and was nearly ready when I remembered my hair.

Peering into the mirror, I could see that the damage was irreparable. The mass of bright red curls flounced out like an open umbrella, entirely out of reach.

I whipped the 'dreamy cocoa' eyeliner off my nightstand and clumsily applied, hoping it might be enough distraction from my more glaring flaws.

Feeling slightly dazed—and paradoxically under dressed and overdressed at the same time—I left and hailed a taxi out in the smoggy street. Six minutes until I was due to be there. I was inevitable going to be late.

If it was a date, I think I'd actually be _less _nervous about that fact.

My terrifying high school friend was much, much worse to make angry. She was high-maintenance, "high class", and full of snobby insults—full of shit, really. She was the kind of person that slowly took away my faith in all of humanity. Needless to say, the fact that (even though the cabbie was ruthlessly speeding) I was going to be fifty-three seconds late would cause an enormous conflict.

I mussed my hair up and swiped on lipstick, checking my reflection in the rear view mirror, and the got out of the cab as it pulled up to the curb next to my destination. I made one last grimace before plastering an overly cheerful smile on my face and going through the revolving door.

"Oh, darling, your hair is so...interesting!" Her shrill voice made its way to my ears and I internally cringed. "How are you?" She continued in the same grafting voice.

"Lovely, actually," I said, a small smirk I reserved for my ironic amusement aimed toward her on my lips. "And how have you been? It _is _wonderful to see you."

"Oh, I've been great!"She made a small frown with her daintily glossed mouth. "Except for the fact that I've been waiting. But don't you worry, dearie, we can't all be as punctual as I am. I'm sure your...serving job has thrown your life into a tizzy."

My mouth quirked into a tiny frown of irritation at this. Thinly veiled insults were really the most insulting. They could be my specialty when tried though, and I had an urge to prove it that night.

"How is your job?" I asked, knowing full well she didn't have one.

Her eyes lost a little bit of their feverish cruel excitement and she said, albeit too proudly, "I'm still living with my parents."

"It's so kind of your parents to pay for you!" I said, giving her a look of 'sympathy'. "I've had to work for everything I have. Not ideal, right?"

"I'm sure you feel a sense of pride in your grueling work. Of course, I don't think I'd like to work. So masculine, don't you think?"

"That's quite misogynistic, don't _you _think?" I questioned, my eyebrows angled, a smirk on my face. I watched her eyes flitting as she tried to figure out the meaning of the 'big word'.

* * *

It continued on like this throughout dinner and when Brittany suggested we get a couple drinks, I was all for it. A little alcohol in my system and perhaps I could drown out her incessant prattling.

"Look at that hottie," the she-devil proclaimed. She gestured toward a man sitting at the bar, across the room. He had black hair, nearly to his shoulders and a quick smirk on his face as he talked to the bartender. "I'm gonna go pick him up. With any luck, I won't be leaving alone. Watch me work my magic." She gave me a saucy look—trying to play the part of the seductress, no doubt.

She sauntered over to the man after smacking her lips, smoothing out her dress, and curving her mouth into a provocative smile. I watched on, amused, as she batted her eyelashes and mussed up her hair while talking to him. After a few moments—his lips moved in a murmuring sentence—a confused look crossed her face and she came back to me, leaving her rather attractive target behind.

"He already has a girlfriend," she explained. "I could just see the conflict in his eyes—have me for the night or keep her?"

"An easy question to answer, it seems," I said, a mischievous glint in my eyes.

Mere seconds after her let down—more strongly put, _rejection_- a tall man strode over to our table, requesting that my friend get a drink with him. He put his slimy hand on her back and led her away as she threw a wink back toward me. Shaking my head, and hardly being able to stomach her willingness, I excused myself to the bathroom for no one in particular.

When I got back, I was greeted by a poorly written note on my napkin, slightly crinkled around the edges.

**Gone home for some fun, paid for your drink! **

**-Britt xx**

I rolled my eyes, not surprised at the turn the night had taken. It was to be expected, really, what with the kind of person she was. So I just sighed, a bit depressingly, and ordered another drink from the bartender. He passed it over, giving me this horrendously sympathetic look, and I glared at him slightly in response.

As I sat there abjectly in my own bubble of silence—of course there were giggling couples and rowdy sports games roaring around me—I realized, with bitterness, how sad my life had become. I lived in a crappy apartment, worked a crappy job, and had crappy friends. It seemed as if nothing could go right.

I was interrupted from my sullen reverie by a smooth voice.

"Excuse me," the man interjected, a small, polite smile evident on his face as I looked up. I took in his features—the same features I had been staring at from across the room not thirty minutes before, laughing at my drunk friend's pursuit of him.

"Yes?" I said by way of acknowledgment and I tried my best to smile at him. "If you're here to try and pick me up, I think your girlfriend might not like that."

Confusion clouded his eyes momentarily, the green glinting slightly in the dim light of the restaurant, before understanding seemed to hit him. "Oh, you're...companions with that...creature. No offense meant to your companion, but she is...not my breed of woman. I do not have one of these...", he paused for a moment and then tried out the word, "girlfriends you speak of."

My smile broadened a bit and I asked, in an increasingly friendly tone, "What can I help you with?"

"Well, I actually...this foolish menu is in comprehensive. I need help to understand." The man's accent lilted—I could _not _tell where he was from—and a pained look crossed his face as if he did not want to admit his misunderstanding.

"Oh! Do you not have similar food where you're from?" I asked bluntly, genuinely curious. I realized it could have come out rudely—you're not meant to assume things like the nationality of people, are you? Or bring up that it's a noticeable difference? I didn't quite understand social rules... "That might have been presumptuous..."

"No, no...You could say that, yes. In fact, very far from here." He gave a small, rueful smile that lit up his features, and suddenly I could not blame Brittany for taking a special interest in him.

"So...what kind of food are you looking for?" I asked, liking him more and more as he graced me with his small smiles and trained his green eyes on mine.

He looked pensive for a moment and then decided, saying, "Nourishment. Do you have any of that?"

I raised my eyebrows at him quizzically. Nourishment? Really, where was this guy from? Another planet? I grinned a little wider at him, hardly trying to hide my amusement, and said, "Of course, although some of the 'nourishment' in this country might not exactly be edible...Would you like something simple or... something extravagant?"

"Simple," he said rather decisively and took a seat across from me.

I thought for a moment, thinking back on the menu, and realized he wouldn't find anything he wanted here. This was a high-end restaurant, full of names that were hard to pronounce and even harder to force down. He was better of getting burgers and fries, or pizza.

I relayed this message to him as it crossed my mind, and then added, "By the way, I'm Gwen."

"Gwen," he repeated, sounding out the name. "Is it an abbreviation for a longer name?"He gave me a curious look.

"Gwendolyn," I responded, cringing a little as my name passed my lips. "And your name is?" I added quickly, hoping to take the attention off my horrendous name.

"It is a very beautiful name, Miss Gwendolyn, I assure you. Fit for a mor...woman such as yourself," he replied smoothly, his lips curving upward. "My name is Loki."

"Like the Norse god?" I asked, my curiosity piqued. "Were your parents mythology enthusiasts or something? Or is that a common name where you're from?"

"Ah...you could say they were enthusiasts," he replied and opened his mouth to say something else, when we were rather loudly interrupted by a grumbling noise.

I slapped my hand over my mouth as I snorted—entirely like a lady, of course—and continued my guffawing unwillingly as I realized the sound was his stomach.

"I'm sorry. It has been making that noise all evening," he said, looking confused once more. "Perhaps it has something to do with the gravity in this area..." He trailed off.

"Yeah, gravity," I said, giggling some more. Suddenly, I was stuck with an idea that would have been immediately written off under any other circumstance, but I was a little tipsy and I couldn't help the urge to help this man out. "Look, I need to go soon, but maybe you can just come with me? I hardly ate and I can cook you something back at my apartment if you're interested..." I trailed off uncertainly, trying to gauge his opinion.

He looked toward the ceiling, contemplating my offer apparently, and came back with a, "Yes, that would be suitable." So he stood up from the table, strode over to help me pull my chair out, and held out an arm. I took it unsure, throwing a wary look at him, but settled my hand in the crook of his shoulder and we departed.

**Author's Note: Thank you so very much for reading! I really appreciate any feedback! :)**


End file.
